


Selections from the Journal of Inquisitor Syv Lavellan

by noandpickles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Diary/Journal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:45:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noandpickles/pseuds/noandpickles
Summary: Syv Lavellan was a Dalish hunter until the events at the Conclave. Saved from the Fade by a mysterious woman whom she believed to be Mythal, Syv became the Inquisitor. These are selections from her private journal, spanning the years from 9:41 Dragon to 9:44 Dragon.





	Selections from the Journal of Inquisitor Syv Lavellan

[Just after joining the Inquistion]  
I never thought I'd find myself involved in events like this. I thought I'd spend my life protecting my clan, wandering from place to place, hoping and praying that one day the gods would return and the Elvhen would be restored to our former glory. I had friends, dreams, hobbies, loves. I danced through the woods, hunted my prey, and laughed with my friends. My clan kept away from humans, and for the most part, humans kept away from us. We did our best to keep the old ways alive. I learned of the Evanuris, and felt a particular loyalty to Mythal. She was the Mother, the Protector. She guarded the Elvhen against all who would harm them. As a hunter of the clan, that responsibility had fallen to me. My duty was to guard against danger, to keep the clan safe in a world set against us. I found myself in opposition to the Andrastian Chantry more than once. The Andrastians sent their missionaries to relieve us of our superstitions, and when we refused, they sent their templars. It was a pattern we expected, having seen it repeated countless times throughout the ages. We were able to keep one step ahead of them. I protected my clan with my stealth and speed, but I also protected those who had been sent to hunt us. Had we wished to, we could have killed them. The Chantry cared not for the lives of their templars, and would have rejoiced at the excuse to exterminate an entire clan. But instead of fighting, we ran. We kept ahead of templar pursuit on the few occassions they gave chase. In this way, I protected my clan, as well as the subjects of the cursed Chantry.

This current struggle is not one between mages and templars. It is between an old authority and the possibility of something new. No one is quite sure which side they're on. A templar's shieldmate may be fighting for a different banner altogether, and neither of them be the wiser. Two mages may live, eat, drink, and sleep together, all the while ignorant to the struggle in which they are adversaries.

The Chantry has abused its power, and failed in its duty to protect its people. The kings and lords of Thedas have allowed this failure, and in doing so have failed as well. The mage rebellion may have far-reaching consequences, but there's a reason it began under the rule of the Chantry. The Qun has had no such rebellion. The Dalish Keepers do not threaten the people of Thedas. Even Tevinter has kept order better than the blasted Andrastians.

I do not know how this fight will end. I don't even know how I think it should. But I do know what caused it, and who is to blame. And that, along with the guidance of Mythal, will have to be enough.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[After having spent some time at Haven]  
I've been so serious lately. I need to calm down for a moment. I think it's the damn cold. The only forests around Haven are snow-covered pines, spread too far apart to provide any meaningful cover. I have nothing against evergreens, but I miss the sycamores and weeping willows of lowland woods. When I was very young, I used to ask the older elves to tell me all about every tree we passed. Sometimes they'd get annoyed and tell me to leave them alone. More often they'd tell me the name of the tree and where it grows. And if I was very lucky, Maithrys would tell me a story of each tree. I once asked him about a particularly gnarled old oak that we passed in our travels. He regaled me for the next hour with tales of the grand old spirit who lived in the oak, a spirit of wisdom so ancient that even the other wisdom spirits thought he was a bore. I laughed at that description, and threw out suggestions to keep the story interesting. We wove a tale of a young elf who befriended the oak, although it seems much more likely now that the oak would have simply throttled the pesky child, much like an old tom cat batting at a friendly kitten to earn some peace and quiet. Our tales were never true, and rarely made even internal sense, but I loved them all the same.

Maithrys was a mage, our clan's Second, although he didn't take to the calling. He lacked the skills to deal with so many people. He preferred to study alone, with occasional guidance from the Keeper, and he was fascinated by the Fade. He always wished he could spend more time there, go deeper. But the threat of possession was great enough to overcome even his temptation. So he resigned himself to studying theory, and prized the few encounters he had with friendly spirits in the woods. He could often be found conversing with an old Sylvan for hours on end.

Maithrys also taught me about the importance of protecting our people. When a nearby clan's Keeper was possessed, an event that happens very rarely, Maithrys did not hesitate to hunt down the Keeper himself. He showed me that protecting people can hurt, and that not everyone will love you for it. But you must do it anyway, because if we do not watch out for each other, the Dread Wolf will come for us all. It was Maithrys's influence that led me to select Mythal's vallaslin when I came of age. I wanted to protect our people, just as he did. And now I find myself called to extend the reach of my protection to include all of Thedas. I hope I am up to the task.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[After returning from the Fade]  
I've walked the Fade twice now. Maithrys would be so jealous. This last incident was nothing to envy, however. I encountered an ancient being of fear that fed itself by bringing to life each person's worst nightmares. But the most crushing part was an encounter with a helpful spirit of faith. The spirit took the form of the late Divine Justinia, former leader of the Andrastian Chantry, the woman who I saw killed at the Conclave. She claimed it was Justinia who saved me, who helped me up the cliff side and through the breach. Not Andraste, not Mythal. A mortal. A human.

I've been prideful. I believed the greatest of the Evanuris had returned to the world to save me. Oh, I knew that couldn't be all there was to it. I believed I had been chosen to save all of Thedas. Surely the end of the world warrants the involvement of the Mother.

I can't know for certain what happened at the Conclave. As Solas has said many times, memories imparted by spirits in the Fade are not objective. They are warped by emotion, and two spirits can show vastly different records of events. It is possible this spirit latched onto the confused memories of the many people who died at the Conclave, and from that jumbled mass of emotion, constructed a narrative that it found pleasing. I refuse to believe this spirit was anything more. It was not the soul of the departed Justinia, as the Andrastians would have me believe. It was a spirit of faith.

Perhaps the spirit, obviously a fan of the Chant of Light, thought to convert me, to turn me from my purpose by forcing me to second-guess what happened at the breach. Ah well, it doesn't matter anyway. Regardless of whether Mythal herself chose me to lead this Inquisition, lead it I must. I will serve her whether she has called me to or not. In the meantime, I need something solid and steady to take my mind off this. Where's Bull...

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[After the events of Trespasser]  
As I write this, my old arms and armor lie across from me, silently mocking. Andruil's Might. Ghilan'nain's Flight. Falon'din's Will. Dirthamen's Edge. Elgar'nan's Light. The Hand of Mythal.

I've been a fool. I thought myself the vassal of a once-dead god, and I named my weapons accordingly. Andruil the Mighty guided my arm. Ghilan'nain the Sure-Footed watched my step. Elgar'nan the Vengeful fueled my rage against my enemies. Falon'din, the Friend of the Dead, felled those who stood against me. Dirthamen, the Secret-Keeper, hid me in his shadows. And Mythal, the Mother, the Protector, the High Dragon... She sat with me as I presided in judgment. She shielded me from countless deathblows. She stood with me in battle against the false god and his archdemon. She guided me, protected me, chose me.

I've been a fool. I envy the atheist, who does not concern herself with the dealings of long-forgotten gods. I envy the Andrastian, whose superstitions give comfort in the darkness of night. I envy even the Elvhen, who think themselves protected against the Dread Wolf by a caring Mother. None of them know what I now know. The gods are not dead, but neither are they gods. They lie weakened, dying, shadows of their former glory. And what a glory it was! Built on the bones of slaves and sacrifices. Never safe from the watchful eye of the Hunter, the vengence of the Father, the spies of the Secret-Keeper, the judgment of the Mother.

The gods lie destitute, trapped for eons beyond the Veil. And now their betrayer has awakened. The one who freed the world from their tyrrany now regrets his revolution. He has awakened to see the world changed beyond recognition. Where we see a world filled with sadness and joy, darkness and light, hope and loss, he sees a world filled with Tranquil. Automatons, simply fulfilling their function, cut off from a higher purpose. To rescind his greatest work, he will remake the world. And in remaking it, he will destroy it. The gods lie powerless, and now the Dread Wolf comes for us all.

I now know for certain what I always believed. The gods are alive, and the Dread Wolf seeks to destroy us. But rather than praying to the Evanuris for guidance and protection, I must set myself against them and him. I am one woman standing against a pantheon. I have no idea if I can do what must be done. Can I kill a god? Can I kill a friend?

At least one thing hasn't changed. It doesn't matter if I can do it. It only matters that I must.


End file.
